


waiting for the sun to rise where you are

by crownedcarl



Series: we've been holding on to us [1]
Category: Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency (TV 2016)
Genre: FARAH WANTS SOME OF THAT BUT THEY'VE GOT MYSTERIES TO SOLVE AND PEOPLE TO RESCUE, Gen, LISTEN DIRK & TODD ARE BI AS HELL, M/M, Pre-OT3, References to Illness, don't let me write fic on mobile at 4am lads this is the result, no ragrets, there's no ot3 tag for these guys .. rip, uhhh i guess this is speculation on s2 ??
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-16
Updated: 2016-12-16
Packaged: 2018-09-08 21:22:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8862592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crownedcarl/pseuds/crownedcarl
Summary: They were supposed to be safe. They were all supposed to be moving on from that fiasco of an investigation, but instead, his whole world has crumbled.He's all alone, now. He can't help anyone.





	

**Author's Note:**

> this is dumb !! this is a dumb fic that i wrote because i'm dumb !!!
> 
> expect a little bit of angst and a lot of dirk's unwavering optimism.
> 
> i'm not counting on an overwhelming response to this because this fandom is tiny, but if you enjoy this & think i should expand on the ot3 vibes towards the end, let me know! title from superstar by broods because i literally have no imagination.

They save the girl, but it isn't enough. It doesn’t end there.

Just when Todd thinks it's finally over, everything goes to hell. Dirk is taken, Estevez is dead, Farah is off chasing down any and all leads, and Amanda -

Todd can't bear to think about it. They were supposed to be safe. They were all supposed to be moving on from that fiasco of an investigation, but instead, his whole world has crumbled. 

He's all alone, now. He can't help anyone. 

Farah leaves him curled on his couch, miserable and useless, promising to check in as soon as she can, but Todd is relieved to see her go. All he's done in the days since his collapse in that bathroom is scream, it feels like. She doesn't need to be around to witness that. Leave him to his shame.

It's poetic justice, him finally being punished with the illness he faked having because he was an asshole and always will be, but pararibulitis is something he wouldn't wish on his worst enemy. He never understood how deep pain could really go, aching through his bones, like he’s bruised on the very inside.

Day three since Dirk has gone missing, and Todd goes into freefall when he stumbles across the threshold to the bathroom. His body isn't on solid ground, anymore. 

There are deep scratches in the wall when he comes back to himself. Must've clung on in the hopes of not plummeting to his death, he figures, but Todd can't get up yet. 

Maybe it'd be best if he stayed here, on the floor. He's pitiful. Might as well waste away.

Amanda doesn't answer her phone, hasn't for days. He leaves another voicemail.

_I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry about everything. I know you hate me, but if you're alive, if you're - if you're safe, please, please let me know._

_I have it, now. Pararibulitis. Hurts worse than I thought it would. I'm so sorry. I've got nothing left. Please pick up the phone, Amanda._

Twelve days since Dirk’s disappearance, and Todd is brewing a pot of coffee when the door bangs noisily against the frame. “What?” Todd whisper-shouts, voice strangled. His heart is pounding. Maybe they're coming for him, too, at last. Maybe he'll get to see everyone else again.

Farah hasn't called. She's probably missing, too.

A lean, unsteady body crashes into his living room, against the couch. Dirk smiles brilliantly at him, blood between his teeth.

“Hello,” he says, cheerful as ever. The coffee pot slips from Todd’s fingers and smashes into hundreds of pieces on the kitchen floor.

He feels dizzy. Vertigo is threatening to undo Todd’s composure entirely, but for once, he forces his body to obey until he's chest to chest with a pale, exhausted Dirk, throwing his arms around Dirk’s neck with a sound of disbelief and joy.

“You look like hell,” Todd whispers, standing there in his bathrobe, face pressed into Dirk’s rumpled sweater. “Fuck, I thought-”

“Thought I was dead? No, not quite. Had a case to solve, Todd, obviously - well, I _was_ the case, but-”

Todd’s fingers dig into the scarily narrow expanse of Dirk’s shoulders. “Shut up,” he whispers, knowing he sounds like he's about to cry. “Not now. Please, not now.”

And Dirk quiets down, and Todd has things he needs to ask, and he should make sure Dirk isn't injured, but all he can do is stumble as he leads Dirk to the bed, the two of them collapsing onto the mattress together. 

His life was a lot easier a few weeks ago. This pain, this uncertainty, this fear - Dirk brought that into his life, but he gave Todd other things, too.

“Go to sleep,” Todd says, burying his face against Dirk’s throat, but all night, while Dirk sleeps fitfully, Todd stares at the door, wondering when this reprieve will end.

Dirk is in the living room when Todd wakes up.

“You should be,” Todd croaks, settling carefully beside him, yawning, “Resting. You just escaped from-”

Except Todd doesn't have the details, and Dirk doesn't look ready to share, so they lapse into an uncomfortable silence. Dirk avoids looking directly at him, intently studying the graffiti on the walls.

“I'm sorry,” Todd eventually says, “I couldn't - I didn't know where you were, and, and Farah left, and I can't get hold of Amanda-”

He's been so lost without Dirk. He's been so alone.

“It's alright,” Dirk assures him, uncharacteristically gentle, patting Todd’s shoulder. “I understand. I got myself into quite the pickle, but look! Still all in one piece. I'd say that's improvement from two arrows to the shoulder, wouldn't you agree?”

Todd is shaking with silent laughter and fatigue, the kind he can't seem to recover from. “So what now?” he asks, “Where do we go from here?”

“People will be looking for me,” Dirk admits, “Perhaps they're already on their way to take us both - which, I admit, wasn't my finest plan. Coming here, I mean. But,” he brightens considerably, “It would be _incredibly_ stupid of me to come here. So stupid, in fact, the good people that kidnapped me may not think to come looking for me here at all. They'd already be here otherwise, wouldn't they?”

“I guess,” Todd agrees, scrubbing at his face. “Do we have a plan? We probably need a plan.”

Dirk nods, looking deep in thought. “We're no good like this,” he declares, standing up and then sitting back down hastily. “Oh, _dizzy_. I don't think I've eaten in awhile. Perhaps we should focus on rebuilding our strength.”

What strength, Todd wants to ask, cowering pitifully from Dirk’s bright smile. “I missed you,” Todd blurts, pretending he isn't avoiding looking at Dirk. “It's been...really weird without you.”

There's no time for this here and now, but Dirk squeezes his knee and says “The feeling is mutual. Now, how about some takeout?”

Three days spent recuperating, and Todd is remarkably underhanded in hiding his episodes; Dirk is observant, but if Todd locks himself in the bathroom when the panic wells up and his body starts to flip out, all he has to do is muffle the noises into a balled up t-shirt, and Dirk doesn't seem to catch on.

God, after it ends, Todd wishes he could die, just to make the pain stop. It's unbearable, and he hates the person he used to be and the person he is now, the liar and the con artist. He deserves this, and worse, but he can't take it.

Dirk reaches across from him to steal Todd’s takeout container of fried rice. His chin catches against Todd’s nose, and he's ready to brush the moment off until he realizes that Dirk isn't trying to make a hasty retreat. 

“Tell me if I'm misreading the situation,” Dirk says, the tips of their noses brushing. “But I'd quite like to kiss you, and you seem agreeable, so - yes or no? Or not now? Or not ever ever _ever_ -?”

“Yes,” Todd sighs, a weird little noise that's half anticipation and half relief. His heart is beating really hard inside his chest.

Is this what his life has been leading up to? Dirk talks a big game about the interconnected nature of things, but this can't possibly be predestined. Todd doesn't get things this good. Not things that last, anyway.

He proves himself right when Dirk kisses him and Todd, after a too-brief moment of reciprocating, feels his airways close up.

His hands against Dirk’s chest are desperate, shoving him away until Todd can brace himself on his knees, but by then it's too late. His lungs are seizing with the effort to breathe, but he can't. 

Dirk’s eyes are wide and confused, and Todd wants to apologize, wants to explain, but all he can do is put his head between his knees and wheeze. Maybe he blacks out, because after a while, he registers that his head is resting in someone’s lap, and there are fingers frantically poking at his jaw, his throat, like Dirk’s looking for signs of life.

Todd bats his hands away, breathing deeply, chest aching with it. “I’m fine,” he manages to croak, sitting up with Dirk’s assistance. His legs are folded beneath him, and it feels like a Herculean feat, standing up only to collapse face-first onto the couch. “Jesus.”

 _“What,”_ Dirk sputters, “Was that? Todd, did you have a panic attack? Am I really that bad of a kisser?”

Dirk Gently, self-proclaimed holistic detective, hasn’t figured it out yet. Relief wells up in Todd’s chest, and he mutters something half-affirmative, hoping Dirk will let it go, except the kiss wasn’t _bad_. Shit, he can’t let Dirk think that.

“Of course not,” Todd tells him, “No. No, that isn’t it.”

He’s not about to lie, but he can’t tell the truth, either, because it feels a lot like Dirk’s going to start looking at him differently. He already is, in a way, all pursed lips and bright eyes, like Todd’s just another puzzle for him to solve. It makes him defensive, turning over onto his back and sighing deeply. “Forget about it,” Todd groans, “Forget you kissed me, forget that happened.”

“I don’t want to.”

Dirk sounds petulant. Todd cranes his neck to look at him, surprised. “Todd,” Dirk begins, gesturing dramatically, “Some things in life are meant to be. This, certainly, is one of the odder things, but I don’t want to forget. I don’t want to _pretend_. Other than the passing out, that wasn’t a half bad kiss.”

“Not half bad,” Todd echoes, wondering if he’s smiling or just grimacing in pain. Maybe both. “Christ, you really know what a guy wants to hear.”

There’s a minute of silence that Todd’s grateful for, but of course Dirk can’t just let it go. Won’t, in his own words. “Would it be alright,” Dirk asks tentatively, “If we tried that again?”

Just before he turns his face into the ruined upholstery, Todd murmurs “Yeah. After a nap.”

-

After his nap, Dirk brews them tea and all but forces Todd to drain his cup, then wraps a blanket snugly around him, declaring that it’s time they made a plan.

“Shoot,” Todd says, and Dirk smiles widely, holding his hands up, like he’s waiting for Todd to match his enthusiasm. He raises his eyebrow; that’s as much as he’s willing to give.

“It’s simple, really,” Dirk announces. “We do what we’ve always done.”

“We...stumble around blindly, hoping for the best?”

Dirk tuts, and Todd is struck speechless by the way Dirk pecks him quickly on the lips before resuming his one-man show. “No, obviously not. We…”

He trails off, pouting, and Todd tries his hardest not to smile. “Alright,” Dirk concedes, “Maybe a bit of that, but we’ve _learned!_ We’ll get Amanda,” he assures Todd, “And wherever Farah is, we’ll find her. I bet we’ll have it all figured out within a week.”

“No bet,” Todd protests, “For all we know, she’s halfway around the-”

The door bangs open. Farah peers at them, face bloodstained.

“...globe,” Todd finishes faintly, wondering if this is one of his more inspired hallucinations.

“Boys,” Farah greets them, easing the door shut, wiping the back of her bloody hand against her bloody forehead. Dirk leans forward like he’s about to inform her about it, then sits back again, mouth open.

“Hello,” he says, as jovial as always. “This is a pleasant surprise. You’ve got a little something - right there?”

She stares at Dirk for a second, then back down at herself. Her white top is ripped at the bottom, the blood vibrant against that pale backdrop. “Not mine,” Farah dismisses, shrugging out of her leather jacket before making herself comfortable in the ruined armchair. “We’ve got things to discuss.”

Dirk nods for her to start, but Farah sits in an eerie silence, staring down at the floor. Eventually, raising her head, she says “I have had _the_ craziest month.”

“No shit,” Todd blurts, “What’d you do, _Rambo_ your way to freedom?”

He jabs Dirk in the ribs with his elbow when a suspiciously laugh-like snort escapes his mouth.

“Pretty much,” Farah agrees, her elbows smearing blood into the armrests of the armchair, and Todd slides her a napkin across the coffee table. She takes it delicately in one hand, then begins to wipe her face. “Listen, we all need to get ready. They’re going to be looking for us, and no offense, Todd, but this place isn’t exactly fortified.”

“Where, then?” he can’t help but ask, seeing a plan - half-assed, undoubtedly, but a _plan_ \- brewing behind Dirk’s suddenly bright eyes. “What the hell are we supposed to do? Dirk’s got, like, two broken ribs, I’m out of commission, and you’re…”

Nothing comes to mind other than “Mildly unhinged. We’re in no state to go to war.”

“Oh, I disagree,” Dirk says, and he’s standing up like a general talking to his troops, except the bright yellow t-shirt and baggy sweatpants combo makes him look a lot like what he is: a tired guy with a black eye who could use some rest. Still, Todd’s a little captivated. “We’ve got all we need right here. My intellect,” he announces, then points to Farah, “Your combat skills - can I call them that? It sounds really cool.”

She nods.

“Right! Your combat skills,” he repeats, turning to jab a finger in Todd’s face, “And your supreme courage, which we couldn’t do without.”

“As much as I admire your optimism,” Farah begins, “We’ve got no weapons, no real plan, no idea who’s after us or why, and to top it all off, not one of us knows where they’ve taken Amanda.”

Dirk smiles at her, like he’s trying to be enigmatic, but it just comes off as goofy. Something seizes in Todd’s chest; knowing he’s not alone in looking for his sister does something weird to his nerves. It’s like an attack, but softer. Like his heart doesn't know whether to skip a beat or stop entirely.

“We’ll figure it out,” Dirk promises, and without further ado, he stumbles towards the door, barefoot and ridiculous. “Towards our destiny!”

“Hang on,” Todd shouts, shoving his feet into a pair of battered sneakers, trying to wrestle off his bathrobe and grab his jacket at the same time, “Dirk, come back here! You’ve got no shoes!”

“Where we’re going, we don’t _need_ shoes!”

“What does that _mean?_ ” Farah questions, but when the door swings shut behind her, she’s smiling - blood-stained teeth and all.


End file.
